The conversations at the table had changed once the serious topic was discussed.
One of the generals was halfway through a story, drink in hand, voice rough with amusement. "—and I swear the rift was unstable enough to spit lightning sideways. First deployment. I thought I was going to die before I even saw an enemy."
Kharzun let out a short laugh. "That wasn't the worst of it. You should've seen the third incursion near the Red Verge. Same rift, different year." He leaned back slightly. "I was young. Thought myself clever. There was a girl in the unit I liked. Sharp. Fast. Smiled like she knew something you didn't."
"And she did," another general said dryly.
Kharzun snorted. "She turned traitor mid-engagement. Pulled an anchor while standing some distance from me. Half the squad vanished before I understood what was happening."
The other general shook his head. "You always did have poor taste."
